The Holder of Muse
In any city, in any country, go to any bar at 1:37 in the morning. If it is noisy and crowded, then leave and find one that is less busy. If there are less than eight patrons currently there, then have a seat at the second to last stool, up at the bar. Should the bartender speak to you in an accent that sounds Russian, or Greek, order as much as you want of anything, for the Holder is aware of who you are, and you have until dawn to enjoy a comparatively painless existence. If, however, he or she speaks to you with an accent that sounds like nothing you've heard before, say, word for word, "I would like to partake of your finest absinthe." Without hesitation and without breaking eye contact, the bartender will reach down and retrieve an old, dusty bottle of bright, fluorescent green liquid. Without waiting for the customary spoon, or even a shot glass, you must break off the neck and drink the entire supply. As soon as the last mouthful of viscous liquid oozes down your throat, your vision will swim, and you'll feel yourself falling from your seat. Make no attempt to catch yourself. Any grab at the bar will change it to a rack of torture so horrible as to defy imagination, and you will become its next victim. If you are good at following instructions, you'll fall for what feels like hours, before finally coming to rest in a bar that looks like an exact copy of the one you fell from -- but with every wooden surface replaced with rusty, gore-splattered corrugated iron. Stand, and the bar will be flooded with a light that cycles through the entire visible spectrum. After the seventh cycle, sit back down upon the same stool you sat in before. In a voice that would make even a demonic entity think twice about bothering you, say, as if muttering to yourself, "I've only come for a drink. Leave me in peace." A man dressed in a black satin suit and wearing a black bowler hat will then enter through the door. As he sits down, the bartender from above, now missing a face, will appear and immediately pour the man a drink. Look not at what is pouring from the bottle, lest your blood emulate that liquid and drain from every orifice of your body. Wait for the man to finish his drink. When he sets it down with a sigh, he will move as if to stand. Before he finishes, say, in a dark tone, "I seek the Holder of Muse." Should he continue to leave, you can enjoy an eternity in which every one of your bodily fluids is served as a drink in this demonic tavern. If the Holder remains seated, he will emit another sigh. From his mouth will emerge the most amazing, the most horrible, the most awe-inspiring, and the most soul-devouring creations and ideas ever thought of in this reality. Listen to them all, and do not interrupt him. When his infinite breath runs out, turn and ask him, "What is the source of their inspiration?" The man will smile and wink at you. From his eye will shine a beam of deepest black and purest white. That beam shall pierce through your eyes, striking your mind. Your new inspiration is Object 155 of 538. All thoughts will now be clear, and no substance, no environment, and no creature from the abyss will ever cloud your mind, but only when you bring Him here will you know if it was worth it.